


The Difference Between Sex and Making Love (One Shot)

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen), TomKurbikston



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Candy, Erotica, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomKurbikston/pseuds/TomKurbikston
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Hiddleston, London’s famous confectioner, recently opened his boutique shop, Illyria, in Covent Garden. He’s looking for a new apprentice to help expand his business and his future. Vivianne, a talented French sous chef, answers his call, intrigued by his take on the perfect creation. Can they work together to create a new recipe or will they melt all the chocolate before they do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difference Between Sex and Making Love (One Shot)

**Author's Note:**

> May cause candy cravings, OR TOM CRAVINGS! don’t say that we didn’t warn you! This is a first collaboration between theothercourse & tomkurbikston. We’ve a lot of fun imagining this story, and it’s different from what either of us usually writes. We hope you’ll like Illyria and Confectioner!Tom. This was created on Tumblr for the SSS Edition of January 2016.

> _An Escape to Illyria with my very own candy maker_
> 
> _What do you get when you combine Jamie Oliver, Willy Wonka and Disney’s version of Aladdin? A cleverly brilliant, yet mischievous and talented confectioner with a passion for doing the right thing and feeding others their sugary cravings._
> 
> _Last week, I had the pleasure of visiting Illyria, Covent Garden’s newest resident and candy shop. Tom Hiddleston,_ _Europe’s own infamous confectioner and Great Britain’s best and newest shop owner with a sweet tooth and lofty ideas, moved into his store a fortnight ago and captured London’s attention. Tom, as he insists all customers call him, made a name for himself working out of Yorkshire’s pride, The Oldest Sweet Shop in the World, sharpening his expertise and honing his own creations._
> 
> _As most overnight success stories go, Tom became a national treasure, a home grown hero and a household name almost overnight with his chocolate work of art, Juliet’s Kiss. The media has painted him their heartthrob, a charmingly dynamic, funny and playful bachelor. His refined and sophisticated outlook easily attracts public attention, especially that of the fairer sex. Not only has the media reflected him well, but I don’t think they’ve been generous enough in singing his praises._
> 
> _What Hiddleston has done is nothing less than extraordinary with his original recipes, all named after Shakespeare characters, a throwback to his early education. He’s got an eye for beauty, a background in cooking, baking and candy making, his treats just as impressive to the tongue as they are to the eyes. His shop, Illyria (borrowed from The Twelfth Night) has been busy since the opening, with no less than five guests inside at any given time during opening hours (9am to 3pm M-Sa and by appointment). You can visit the boutique style shop to buy any of your Mars bars and M &Ms needs, but those aren’t the main attraction in this trendy yet sophisticated store front._
> 
> _Hiddleston, born in London, studied at Cambridge with a concentration in Literature. His passion turned towards the culinary arts while completing his thesis on feast versus famine in British Literature. Charles Dickinson and his works featured heavily, I’m sure. Once our young Hiddleston earned his degree, he then studied at the prestigious Cordon Bleu in London under some of the best known Master Chefs of this generation. He earned a Diplome de Patisserie that he’s applied to his own business._
> 
> _Hiddleston has expertly created and crafted his own confectionary masterpieces using some of his favorite flavors. His palette: chocolate, fudge, caramel, nougat, molasses, fondue, butterscotch, cream, fondant, sugar, water and other magical elements that he won’t always share._
> 
> _He excelled in recreating dishes by taste in school and uses that skill now with one of his best sellers, Juliet’s Kiss. “There’s something very sensual about blending flavors to create something altogether richer, more flavorsome and delicious than the sum of its parts,” he told me when I accepted an invitation to his shop. “It’s like snogging and caressing… there’s a rhythm to it – And if and when you get in sync with your partner, it’s better than the all the foreplay on its own.”_
> 
> _With a glint of mischief in his eye, the charming confectioner offers me two of his latest dueling creations. In the way of explanation, he clarified, “It’s the difference between sex and making love.”_
> 
> _This isn’t an exaggeration when it comes to these two candies, nearly identical to the eye but couldn’t be more different to the taste, both equally as orgasm inducing as its predecessor and I had many: treats, not orgasms, treats. The Hal and The King Henry are princely masterpieces with vastly different tastes, textures and looks when you bite into them, both appealing to different moods and preferences._
> 
> _After sampling the gooey fruity nougat in The Hal that dances along my taste buds at the tip of my tongue and the heady vibrant stiff liquored stately King Henry, I switched back and forth between the sides, unable to decide my favorite. My only question after that was simply: “How?”_
> 
> _How does this chef become a baker to eventually a confectioner? How does this man create what he does? And how does he do this sorcery day in and day out and his candies never go stale or manufactured like Cadbury?_
> 
> _“Patience and precision,” he told me emphatically and quite seriously. “Meticulous execution. Know your techniques. Your base. Your measurements, your ingredients, your process and your strengths. Once you bring all that to the table, you can branch out beyond that. But you must know your basics, the difference between granulated sugar and powdered sugar and how it effects your outcome, what brown sugar does, or honey, or nutmeg. Your recipe is your bible.”_
> 
> _Hiddleston’s outlook on running the actual business? “It’s a privilege to be a part of someone’s food consumption, especially when it’s their choice. Sweets, pudding, chocolates – these aren’t part of everyday essential food groups. I greet everyone with a smile because they’ve come to me. They made that choice.”_
> 
> _Tom Hiddleston, confectioner extraordinaire, is looking for someone to apprentice, someone to help him with the day to day baking and cooking in the kitchen, running the business and keeping the books. An apprentice who shares the same vision for his shop and future as he has. His vision, you ask: “To make the world a little sweeter.”_
> 
> -      By Kim Hartley for The Evening Standard

Tom wafted through the swing door from the kitchen to the store floor with ease, carrying a large tray of freshly made fruit concoctions to include in his counter display for the day. Charmingly he smiled for his newly arrived guest, “Darling, you must be Ms. Vivianne Alléno. I’ve been expecting you.” His accent massaged over the syllables with fluidity and grace, his eyes focused on her.

On the verge of what she hoped to be a whole new world, the young woman had emerged with a spring in her step from the tube stop in Covent Garden into noticeably colder weather than her native France. The entrepreneur, looking for her big break, fisted a copy of Ms. Hartley’s glowing newspaper review clipped from The Evening Standard about Illyria and its owner, her new employer.

Tom’s concept of candy making and baking spoke to her heart and her senses, what the art of scrumptious creations meant to her after her previous stressful career choice. Tom’s deliciously sensual words inspired her to leave her position as sous chef, climb aboard the Eurostar alone for the first time in her 26 years and take the first London flat that fit her budget. Today, she started working with this man. He’d teach her the secrets of confectionery and become her mentor, she could sense it.

“I am, Mr. Hiddleston.” She stifled the impulse to bow to the closest person she ever got to English royalty, perceived royalty as he was a well-known face with refined and posh manners. Instead she offered her hand to help with his tray, a gesture that he waved off with a humble gesture.

His eyes never left hers as he expertly moved behind the counter and arranged his display. “Tom please, call me Tom. Welcome, welcome. How was your journey? Alright?” His hands were mesmerizing in their elegantly precise movements, every muscle controlled, every flex exacting. There was no wasted energy to his arrangement, and his body moved with sense memory. He could carry on a full conversation while he worked his confectionary magic.

“Oh, bien… fine, thank you for asking. And thank you kindly for having me,” she said, shrugging out of her coat and scarf. The English weather had been chased away by the charming and elegantly cute atmosphere within the shop matched that of vision conjured by the Standard’s review.

After applying for the job, Vivianne pictured this place many times in her mind, but she was surprised by how small it was compared to her imagination. Illyria appeared cosy and welcoming, the walls covered with antique-looking ebony shelves decorated glass jars and plates. Colourful sweets of all kinds, in varying shapes and sizes filled the shelves, brighter and more incredible than she could have guessed. A rainbow of fancy candies pleased her, skirting the outline of her dreams and hopes, a joyful playground for eyes, tongues and bellies. She felt like a kid in a candy store! The dreamer rejoiced with the promise of a vivid future.

With the one-third of the counter situated for opening, Tom rounded out from behind to shake Vivianne’s hand for the first time. “You come highly recommended, darling. Ms. Durand insisted that I take you on as apprentice, and Mr. Lambert – I had to convince him in the end to let you go actually. He didn’t seem keen on losing your expertise in his kitchen.”

The pair had discussed her experience and study over the phone when Tom came across her CV. He offered her the position of apprentice for a trial period to see if they were compatible. Her work ethic admirable, her attendance remarkable, but Tom was still puzzled by her switch from gourmet cooking at La tour d’Ivoire, one of the highest rated restaurants in not only France but all of Europe to a small confectioner’s shop in London. His business grew by the day, the receipts and profits promising even in an off season. He’d missed the Christmas crowd, by opening the store after the last of the holiday decorations came down around Seven Dials.

“What made you choose London? What made you choose candy?” He kindly took her coat and scarf from her to store under the counter by the till.

“Um… curiosity… and a film called Chocolat?” A nervous laugh escaped when she revealed the hidden part of why she took a risk with her professional life. A part of her wanted that for herself in the future, a shop or store of her own that she could determine her own hours, pace and menu.

“Darling Vivianne, have you a crush on Johnny Depp?”

She held up her hand with her forefinger and thump apart by only a sliver of space. “Peut-être un petit.”

“You risked a career at a five star restaurant.” It was his way of pressing her for information, to ensure that she was as dedicated to his shop as he hoped she would be. The future of Illyria depended upon the right fit, someone to help expand his business and his clientele, to ensure a profitable endeavor.

“I spent my career under the authority of overbearing chefs, arrogant cooks, know-it-all managers.” She counted on her fingers that displayed various burns and scars from her time under men who thought they’d invented the art of cooking. “Every day was a life of competition: against the finer restaurants, self-important kitchen squads, snobbish guests. Prestige and success, that’s all it was ever about.”

Tom watched her sympathetically, recognizing some of his frustration from his days in university and studying different styles of cooking. “You wonder – is this really what it’s all about, is it worth it?”

Emphatically she agreed, rubbing her hands on her comfy jeans, “Yes! Exactement! I want a place, the real soul of cooking or creating: sharing, pleasing and cheering people.”

“Well, Johnny Depp isn’t here, I’m afraid, but I consider myself lucky to have someone with such ‘joie de vivre’ and spice of life… if you’ll allow it.” Illyria seemed to be the answer to her question, a new opportunity in a different concentration to have a better job and a better life full of promise, instead of long hours and no appreciation. “A goodbye to Parisian ambition and good morning to English phlegm.”

 

After showing her the shop floor and explaining some of his displays and inventory, Tom escorted his new apprentice through the swing door to the kitchen beyond. Illyria’s kitchen was larger than the store front had indicated. While they walked through to a seemingly other world, Tom explained, “This used to be a fish and chips shop, but I had this all converted.”

She marveled at the space, feeling as though she’d found the difference between the wardrobe and Narnia beyond the back. Illyria’s quaint sophistication impressed her, but her kitchen beyond held the true magic of creation. The entire back wall stood three refrigerators and three freezers, all stainless steel, the temperatures for each clearly marked on the doors and a checklist mounted on the front. Vivianne assumed for reference while preparing or for housing customer orders.

High capacity ovens lined the left while banks of cooling trays on wheels lined the right. Pots, pans, shelves and other accessories for creating the most delectably decadent and sinful treats occupied the inside wall towards the shop floor. For every minute detail put into the sophistication and higher end boutique shop floor, the same amount of industrial detail of functional production went into the kitchen. Vivianne recognized how much of a perfectionist her new mentor was by the immaculately shiny surfaces and defined stations along the stainless steel island in the middle, prepped for the day’s production.

“Welcome to the heart of Illyria,” Tom announced with a flourishing wave of his hand. His love and pride for the place, both front and back, was written with his smile. His exuberance and confidence felt infectious and infused her with the desire to do well, to exceed his expectation.

“Where the magic happens.” The sense of awe and fascination set her comfortable trainers on a steady tour around the island to acquaint herself with the stations. “Please,” her giddiness setting her voice higher “please Mr. Hiddleston—“

“Tom,” he politely corrected, enchanted by her musical accent, a welcome change to the everyday Londoners that came into the shop.

“Tom, please,” losing none of her wish to get her fingers busy. “I am eager to learn… place me.” In her fervent speech, she lost some of English and tripped over her words.

Enjoying her enthusiasm, he gestured her to follow him to a small doorway in the back that she’d missed amongst the loaded trays of lemon squares and orange hard candies. His tiny, scarcely used office and the facilities were housed in two rooms behind that door. The handsomely ambitious confectioner led her back through the kitchen. “I’ve done most everything for today, anticipating your arrival. Except for two displays that I thought we could prepare together. I could get you comfortable in the space, with the layout, learn where things are and make chocolate covered strawberries. I’ll teach you Romeo and Juliet’s kiss, the best seller.”

Vivianne, without prompting, took an apron from the wall next to the office and washed her hands thoroughly at the sink. She returned to an impressed owner with a nod, “Put me to work.”

Tom showed her where he kept the strawberries that had been delivered just before her arrival this morning. “We’ll have some fun with these today.” She helped him unload the five dozen long stem berries from the refrigerator to the island.  “I’ll wash them, if you’ll prepare the dipping chocolates, milk, dark and white.”

All he needed to do was point out where the ingredients and utensils, while she took the initiative with the relatively simple task. He observed, setting the trays out and covering them in wax paper. Vivianne’s background in a gourmet kitchen dictated and guided her instincts through the process. Instead of melting chips, she chose to chop the chocolate squares herself.

“Have you made these before?”

“I have. I stood in for the dessert menu at my last kitchen. I wished to learn.” Her hands worked in unison, one controlling the handle with expert hold while the other guided where the blade cut into the chocolate.

“What made you choose the bars?”

She hummed softly to herself, considering the response to give. “It’s more… what’s the word?” She struggled to search her English for what fit, maintaining her pace on shaving. “Real… bio? Um- uh- how do you say? From here,” she patted her stomach to help illustrate her point.

“Gut reaction?” he offered helpfully.

She shook her head.

“Organic?”

“Yes! Organic, thank you…” She focused back on her next bar of white chocolate, as she murmured to herself ‘biologique’ the French word to the English translation. The repetition helped her learn, and had served her well in the years she spent studying.

He complimented, “I’m impressed. I keep the chips for emergency orders or if inventory on the shop floor is running low.”

While she prepared each pan of chocolate, Tom explained hours and expectations in and around the kitchen and retail area, including the orders for customers to collect. He casually watched Vivianne’s technique, fluid and natural, having spent so many hours on the line. He recognized her desire to do everything as precisely to her knowledge as she learned it. The stiffness of unfamiliarity didn’t affect her as she proactively asked for things well in advance of needing them. She took three waxed trays to her station, leaving Tom with the others, and set the dipping chocolates between them. Tom revealed the coconut shavings, various chopped nuts and other variations to perk up the standard chocolate covered strawberries.

Upon taking the first berry each, both of them went to dip into the same melted concoction at the same time, their fingers clashing in the middle. Tom released a laugh, before letting her continue. “We think the same.”

“I didn’t think that to be true,” she blushed without losing her own personal rhythm. They both went to dip another strawberry, their hands clashing again. “Until now.”

The pair of trained chefs laughed together, agreeing that Vivianne would dip the dark chocolates, while Tom did the white chocolates. They kept an easy and friendly chatter about the first days of the shop, any repeat customers, and her last days in France. The conversation flowed from one subject to another, each of them opening up and sharing personal information, getting to know each other.

The plain milk, dark and white chocolate covered strawberries loaded in the fridge for setting, the couple began their ‘fun’ for the remaining. Again, at the same time, they both reached for the shaved cashews for decoration, causing another momentary halt to their work.

“Vivianne, I’m afraid this is becoming a habit,” he joked easily. “Should I gather the ingredients for the next display?”

Pleasantly shocked, she asked incredulously, “I may do the rest?”

“I can trust you. Surprise me with the variations, make them pretty.”

For a confectioner of his caliber to hand over the production to her, she was amazed and flattered by his trust that she could handle such a task. “Yes, yes, I will do. You can trust, I will do.”

Tom smiled to himself as he turned from her, endeared by her slightly broken English. While she focused on the strawberries, he described his best seller treat and the story behind it. “While I was in university, I had my first serious girlfriend. She was my world.” Because this particular highlight of his menu meant so much to him, he’d bulked all the ingredients into their separate station.

“What was she called?” Intrigued by the thought of him with a lover, Vivianne engaged, her ears perking to his every word.

“Natalie. We cooked together during testing and finals, preparing menus with her was tough.” Tom loaded one of her completed trays into the fridge with the others, admiring her flourish with the striping of the nuts and sprinkles. “There was one night, we took the same pastry class. Another cram night getting a particularly elaborate recipe right. I was head over heels for this girl, but hadn’t done anything about it yet.”

“Aw, young and afraid of hurt.”

“I was but that night, when I finally kissed her, that birthed the dream of Illyria.”

Vivianne paused in her task, to look at his expression and give him the respect of listening to this story. “All this for a woman?” Despite the fact that this incredible place resulted from another woman, she thought the idea romantic and touching.

Tom displayed no hurt or bad feelings for this relationship, having had other lovers since this special one, his first love. “She inspired me to switch my menu to candy instead of baking. Candy felt more intricate to me, challenging. But her kiss, a stunning mix of tea with brandy, dark chocolate and vanilla – I still remember it, and I’ve been trying to recreate it ever since.”

Instead of working, Vivianne and Tom stood facing each other, leaning on the island, absorbed in his story. “Juliet’s kiss is from your kiss?” She stared at his thin lips, recently moistened by his tongue. She couldn’t look away, imagining for herself what his kiss would taste like, feel like, smell like, how it would delight all her senses.

Flecks of darker brown deepened her already brown eyes, and he saw a different color from his chocolates. Vivianne’s eyes were warm, inviting and the shade of brown reminded him of his beloved childhood teddy bear. With the thought in his head, he wanted to pull her in his arms and hold her, to know the feel of it.

He breathed a laugh and broke eye contact, blushing slowly. “Juliet’s kiss was my kiss. I conceived the recipe and I’ve been adjusting the measurements to get close to the flavor I tasted that night.”

To break the mood, Vivianne teased, “You know the French invented kissing.”

*

The new coworkers fell into a symbiotic give in take in the kitchen before the shop opened and on the floor dealing with customers. For the first day, they felt surprisingly comfortable with one another. The hours passed, the candy sold, and the till filled.

Vivianne couldn’t help but notice that most of the customers that came into the shop were women and flirted with Tom. The apprentice felt no competition for his affections, though she wouldn’t say no if he availed himself to her. The confectioner charmed and flirted back, securing repeat customers with those he winked at or smiled for. He had a sweet and attentive disposition that everyone responded to, making each customer feel special, unique and important. It was quite remarkable observing him, a natural presence and charisma that would probably sell as quickly as his candies if it could be bottled.

Before she knew it, she’d experienced two full days beside Tom without feeling an ounce of stress. The change of pace from the high pressure sous chef to relaxed apprentice was wonderfully rewarding already. She felt comfortable with her owner and he with her, both of them happy to work beside one another. So much, that she missed him at night and couldn’t wait to be at his side for another twelve hours.

On the third day in her new job, Vivianne began to feel the long hours of her work. Although she felt tired, she also felt so good and light-hearted. The intensity and passion that Tom poured into his candies impressed her. She felt encouraged and uplifted. He boosted her imagination and she wanted to create better things, more unique and special treats. His precision and technique amazed her and her head filled with new ideas.

His kindness and sweet manners with her and Illyria’s customers stirred something within her, a tenderness or softness. Everything this man did had sense and a purpose, every gesture and thought had a meaning.  She felt connected with his work spirit. She never would’ve dreamed to be in the company or employ of someone so inspiring.

Pleased with her abilities, Tom witnessed her eagerness and the tremendous effort she made to embrace her new position. She was a fast learner and she had her own cooking skills that rivalled his and his contemporaries. She observed, reproduced and recreated every detail he taught her. He’d been blessed that she’d been even better than her CV. She brought so much more to his own work, an additional enjoyment, another layer of pleasure.

He loved his work, he loved creating, and that she did of her work beside him made it feel brand new again. He caught himself imagining far better world and wider opportunities than he originally expected. At first he needed help expanding his market, she worked with him so well that he knew the next level would be exciting. Warm, sweet and always smiling, Vivianne proved to be a bliss. They had the same vision for candy making and for Illyria.

Vivianne expended so much energy and motivation into her work that it began to cost her a bit. Her body started to ache but she still wanted to help him, to work with him, be a part of his collaboration. The days grew longer and she grew exhausted, shattered by the long hours.

Distracted with a variation of his own, Tom rolled out a new pastry crepe. When he concentrated so closely, his eyebrows furrowed close and his eyes darkened in his seriousness. Reaching the appropriate temperature of work for the right level of flaky was an art. His face tensed, but his gestures smooth and delicate.

Usually, Vivianne would catch herself mesmerized by his smooth dance. In the past three days, her thoughts escaped beyond mentor and apprentice. She had wondered if his skin smelled of cinnamon or tasted of salty buttered caramel, if his kisses were sweet and soft, if his hands was as light and caressing as fruit coulis. She quickly chased these ideas away from her mind as soon as possible. She needed to focus on her work, on maintaining her professional relationship. He was her boss and she forbid herself think about him differently.

“Fuck,” he shouted, tossing his rolling pin aside with frustration.

“What happened?”

“I’m tired and I let dough stiffen too quickly, it’s useless. Fuck, I need to mix another batch.”

“Let me help you,” she offered, putting her project aside. She leaned over his shoulder while he began measuring the flour and salt.

Tom’s face flushed red in his irritation with himself for letting the dough get away from him. Of all the tasks in the kitchen, he messed up the easiest in his need for a break. Firmly clutching his sifter, he pounded out the exact amount of flour he needed.

“Smooth one, candy maker Tom.” She teased to lighten his mood.

The attempt stood unsuccessful as the grumbled back, “Not this time.”

Vivianne stared at him while rationing the butter and the water to his specified temperature, baffled and unsure what more she could do. She hadn’t seen him lose his cool and she didn’t know how to manage the mood. After setting him back to rights, she returned to the chocolate creation she’d been working on. She intended to use half of it for Tom’s order for tomorrow’s display and the other half to create something of her own. She’d let her imagination run wild with her creation. An idea for a new candy had wiggled into her consciousness and she couldn’t let it go. It seemed little audacious, a bit surprising, but she was confident in her ability to do this new thing. A perfect companion for Tom’s Juliet’s Kiss, Vivianne called Ophelia’s Kiss. She used the rest of acacia honey to boost the flavour of her mixture and sparked some of the leftover of the roasted almond that she pilfered on Tom’s work station.

In her own flash of madness, the worry over Tom and the fatigue she felt, her chocolate mixture got away from her and dribbled down her arm. She blinked in surprise and squinted at the brown mass spread on her skin. As it seemed a waste, she finally used her fingertip to scoop some into her mouth.

The liquid was warm and soft, melting around on her tongue to reach all its taste buds, exploding in chocolate sweetness. The cocoa bean had roasted evenly, keeping its wonderfully subtle bitterness and fruity taste. There was just enough sugar and brandy to boost its flavour. The sublime delight made her deaf to Tom’s grumble. She closed her eyes to savour the moment and let a moan escape without realizing.

Tom had seen her mistake and stopped in fascination to watch her. Instantly all anger and frustration that he’d felt in his error had evaporated. Something else, warmth and liquid had replaced every bitterness. He lost his train of thought and another batch of his pastry whatever, staring at the vision of her instead. She bewildered and surprised him, lowering his guard.

“Did you skip lunch today, Vivianne?” his voice had returned to the velvety dulcet tones that made the ladies swoon.

She smiled around the finger in her mouth, caught in the act. “I couldn’t let it go to waste. You already ruined the pastry.” She glanced at his work station and added, “Twice.”

He smiled. The smile turned into a cheerful and joyful laugh, catching Vivianne in her impromptu snack and getting slack for his blunder. Feeling the need to retaliate and get him a little dirty, she reached into an open jar of icy sugar and sent a handful of fine powder to the face of her opponent. He stopped suddenly and snorted himself to get rid of the powder, a white cloud forming in the air. In turn she laughed at him and he followed. Tom’s whole face lit up with happiness, his eyes sparkled with mischief, the corner of his eyes crumpling with laughter.

“Is that how it’s going to play out, darling?” The question delivered to her sounded more like a dare than a warning. At last she’d gotten back the light and charming Tom Hiddleston she had known before. His playful spirit didn’t want things to end there.

“That’s entirely up to you, Wonka,” she held up her hands taunting him to continue.

He dipped a spatula into the melted chocolate and closed in on Vivianne, drawing a line across her apron. “What do you make of that?”

She repeated her previous gesture to taste the sweets, but this time she licked her fingers moaning intentionally. His gaze melted into something altogether provocative, maybe a bit forbidden. She also knew how to have fun and continue this ‘fight.’ Grabbing the jar of honey next to her, she unscrewed the lid to dive two fingers into the liquid and get a dollop of pouring honey. She approached Tom, holding his gaze, daring him to run or stop her. When he didn’t, she smeared the liquid on his cheek, the sticky thinning drew a shiny war paint on his fair skin.

Tom’s eyes lit with a sparkle of lusty danger and playful mischief. Their game steadily descending from innocent… to something not so innocent. “Playing with fire you’re bound to get burned.” His voice purred with his innuendo.

He wiped his cheek with his fingertip and brushed it against the lips of his attacker, outlining her mouth.

The air stalled her lungs, silence reigning between them with this goading. She read his thoughts somehow obvious to her, but so forbidden. She didn’t know how to react. They had to work together every day, many hours a day. She didn’t want to risk this job or the friendship she’d formed with him. She pinched her lips together and let the tip of her tongue to taste the sweetness of the new gloss.

Tom stood motionless before her, his eyes penetrating, almost through her. He kept on his toes, ready for anything. But the next move was his and he seized it; he suddenly sealed his lips on hers, pinning his body against hers, lifting and catching her against the hard surface of the island. He kissed her, sliding his upper lip between hers enjoying the taste of honey and chocolate on her mouth. His tongue dipped between her parted lips, hungrily seeking more, a move he’d wanted to make since day one over their first collaborative candy kiss.

Tom indulged himself in the taste of her, enhanced by some of the basic ingredients of his kitchen, and yet Vivianne’s desire enhanced those elements. This hadn’t been the plan or how his business relationship was supposed to go, he couldn’t find the will to care. He felt a certain amount of disappointment that he hadn’t kissed her before this moment that he’d denied himself such a flavour, such an exquisite delight. He pressed in against her, deepening his adventurous meld with her to find that richer tang, that hearty taste of Vivianne.

Pliant Vivianne answered his kiss with a fervour all her own, a mixture of following and leading. A heady experience that their kissing matched their working relationship, in unison with a need to exceed. She clung to him, inching forward along the work surface to spread her legs for him. With a gasp, she separated from his mouth just to breathe, but didn’t like being away. Her hands raked up the front of his chef’s coat, wrapped her arms around his neck, and surrendered to another crushing kiss.

His desire for his Vivianne proved stronger and sweeter than all the delicacies in the world, including that of anything he’d ever created in his kitchen. Having her in his arms, kissing him with her French passion, this creation had been his greatest achievement. He needed to touch her, to watch her body, to discover its curves and valleys, its pleasures and delights.

As he began to unlace her apron from the waist, she pushed him forcefully from her, her nerves and judgement getting the better of her in the heat of the moment. “Mon dieu! Tom!” she flushed brighter than the red velvet cupcakes she’d made that morning. Her eyes grew wide, worry and concern saturated her beautiful face. Without another word, she hopped down from the island and escaped through to Illyria’s shop floor.

The counter stopped her in her tracks and she leaned her hands on the surface to concentrate on her breathing. Short of breath from her racing heart, she saw the world beyond the darkened shop floor, the late afternoon crowd heavy with their purchases passing by the front window. Vivianne had never felt such an intense attraction for a man, not her previous boyfriends and certainly not for a previous employer. Was there any preparation to be done to protect her heart or her future if she followed through with her feelings for Tom?

And then he touched her hips, tenderly holding her and quieting her fears. “Vivianne.” The erotic low purr of her name in her ear, his breath tickling, calmed her in a sensual way. He held as she sagged and melted into his embrace once more. “I care for you, Vivianne. I care for you very deeply.” He suspected that she needed some comfort. She didn’t run screaming from the shop, she only put some space between them to sort out her head. For that, he could help her and get her back.

“I wanted this, I desired you from – your hand crashed mine over chocolate.” The confession, her secret bubbled from her mouth in the space of a simmer to boil over the stove. “It’s not possible, is it?”

Tom cradled the woman that he’d spent the past few nights dreaming about and few days daydreaming about. “I feel it too. It’s entirely possible, and it’s happened.” He turned her around in his arms, and despite the low lighting, gazed into her eyes. “We’ve found each other.”

Vivianne couldn’t control herself, no longer afraid of what happened between them, pulled him back into a fiery kiss, pledging herself to him in the most primal way. Although she was again caught between a counter and the long lean man kissing her within an inch of her life, she peeled back his chef’s coat from his shoulders, letting it fall to the honey oak hardwood floor. Laying her hands over the wife-beater below, she touched him and marvelled at the figure underneath, athletic, sculpted muscles.

Cupping her face between his hands, he sunk into a deeper kiss, delving into the latent passion that existed through them. The more he had of her, the more he wanted, and he understood gluttony for possibly the first time in his life. He pressed his hardened cock against her, desiring, yearning and longing for this fascinating woman.

“Take me…” he heard her whisper urgently when he ran his tongue along her neck. She tasted of melted toffee and citrus and female, an all-natural flavour that could not be duplicated in a kitchen, no matter how precise his palette. “Tom, s’il te plait… need…” He couldn’t get enough of the mixture of French and English, the gorgeous utterances massaged his pores into pure craving.

While Tom hastily undressed her, Vivianne nibbled at his jaw with her teeth, scraping lightly at the day old stubble, wanting to feel it along her tongue, her breasts, her thighs. She gently nibbled at the protruding vein of his neck, the pulse underneath and the hollow at the base, tasting of cinnamon and cardamom. When he playfully grazed her nipple with the pads of his fingers, she cried out, lost in the sensation of all he’d provoked in her.

Spurred by the sound of her lust, Tom pressed a kiss to her nipple and then the other as he stepped out of his clothes. He cupped her breasts in his hands, convinced he’d never held anything so precious in all his life. “My God, Vivianne… you astonish me. You’re so… soft, so smooth… finer than powdered sugar.” He lowered her to the floor, kneeling face to face. “I need to have you.”

Vivianne leaned into his ear and whispered a meek, almost shy, “Oui.” She reached for a small plastic cup of meringue frosting that they kept under the counter for children as a treat when they came in. She dipped a finger in and wiped a small amount across Tom’s chest. She experimented every square centimetre of his skin, her tongue lashing and cleaning the sweetly tangy flavour along his supple skin, set each of her partner’s muscle to quiver in anticipation.

When she finished, he tenderly ordered, “No more flavours.” He guided her to the floor, stroking her skin, caressing her flesh until she shook with the same need he had. “I want to taste you.” He pressed a starving kiss into her lips, plump from his previous bruising manipulation. She tasted of both of them together, and that was enough to set his blood from a race to a boil. “I want to relish your skin.” He pressed his lips against her jaw, his body settling over her. “I want to feel you, smell you.” He pressed a love bite between her breasts, his lithe, nimble fingers caressing the outline of her bosom, tweaking her peaked nipples.

Amongst the belongings he kept under the counter, he produced a small square foil packet. He held her gaze without moving, the small package held between his fingers like a piece of a candy.

Vivianne understood; he needed her permission before moving forward, he gave her the opportunity to say no. He asked if all of this was too much for her to take on. They were about to take their relationship beyond their pure imagination.

She nodded slowly, granting her consent. “Oui.” She’d taken leave of her senses, her head couldn’t formulate a thought to deny him; her body had taken command. She desired him, her heart and her body, and she wanted to give herself to him. Vivianne would give herself to him.

Together, they unwrapped the condom and sheathed him with it. As he eased her back down on the floor, their clothing as their bedding, Tom took her in his arms, positioning himself between her legs.

She seized him by the shoulders, as she felt his weight on her, his breath against her cheek. She felt his questing fingers at the apex of her thighs, touching and stroking her lips, checking that she was aroused enough to accept him. Vivianne sighed hotly at the soft fondle, where she wanted him most. “Oh mon Dieu…” Her eyes fluttered shut, her hunger and desire descended to aching need. Her hips flexed upwards in invitation for more.

Tom’s fingers lingered between her legs, mildly caressing her, considering the flavour of her core. He pushed one digit into her, breaching her slit to feel her inner sanctuary too warm and inviting.

She cried out, “Tom… please—“ Her eyes flew open, seeking his in the muted light of Illyria’s shop floor. She nodded, giving her last desperate approval that she wanted this, that she was sure. She invited him in with a smile.

Tom pressed his length into her core slowly, allowing them both to bask in the pleasure of their joining. She felt snug and warm around him as he filled and stretched to accommodate him. His hips swayed in a leisurely rhythm, a gentle rock, a tender wave, an unceasing nimble movement. Their bodies mingled and combined and became one in a delicately harmonious blend. Their eyes held, and it almost felt as if they were seeing each other for the first time.

Their cadence gradually grew to an intense writhing against each other in abject please. She felt her senses begin to shiver, set to burst in a euphoric explosion. The taste of his skin and kisses blew into a thousand subtle and unknown flavours, his smell hypnotic. The contact of his body and his cock inside her set her body trembling with the need for release. Her legs wrapped around him tightly, giving herself over to the pleasure of his body. “Oh Mon Dieu!"she uttered repeatedly as her inner walls clamped around him.

Tom heartily drank her French words in, tipsy with each of her groans, sounds of ecstasy and sinful moans. He felt her body burst and come apart in enormous pleasure beneath him, humbled by the effect of his body on hers. Vivianne curled off the floor into his chest as she cried out in utter rapture and bliss. Her flesh violently clamped and released around him, pushing his climax beyond his limit of control. He lost himself in the pleasure of her body, overwhelmed and amazed by the perfect union.

In the blissful aftermath, he rolled onto his side, refusing to let Vivianne go. Physically he’d never felt so light or relaxed, and the new woman in his life entirely responsible. Lying on the floor in each other arms, their breathing calmed and evened out again.

Tom’s tilted Vivianne’s face up to look at him with his fingers under her chin, her head resting on his chest. “I think we may have found the recipe for… something that I might need an additional permit for.”

She beamed up at him, feeling so refreshed and oddly safe, despite being on the floor of a store with half of London wondering past. “There are sex shops in London.”

Tom’s bore into hers. “Vivianne, my beautiful Vivianne.” He rolled her beneath him again, so they were eye to eye, flesh to flesh. “That wasn’t sex. That was making love.”

Coiling her arms around him again, she recited his quote for the Evening Standard and the article that changed her life. “Oui, ‘the difference between sex and making love.’”


End file.
